


Like that guy in the Odyssey

by vaguely_concerned



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: But they're not in Overwatch, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Oneshot, Post-Recall, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguely_concerned/pseuds/vaguely_concerned
Summary: In which a pair of wanderers return home — some slice of outlaw life!





	Like that guy in the Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be safe: This is not set in the Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse, but is a separate standalone thing! I am definitely also working on new installments for that, though :)

The house sits on a measured, lazy hill, the dirt road leading up to it long-winded and meandering like an old academic after one too many drinks. Jesse feels a stab of sympathy for that guy in the Odyssey as he trudges along in the dark under the stars — the slope is weird, so gentle and unobtrusive that you’d be forgiven for not realizing you were moving uphill at all, like being caught on an endless stretch before a rise.

There’s a light on in one of the windows, pinprick faint at this distance. Jesse walks faster, unheeding of his right leg occasionally giving under him.

It’s quiet out here, no animals, no cars since the last one an hour ago when he’d had to abandon the battered piece of crap hoverbike he’d rented, just him and this stretch of road between wallowing hills. A mile or so back the streetlights had given up, then the asphalt after that. The war dealt this place a savage blow back in the day — you can read its past in all the metal carcasses being claimed by grass and heather, but you’d be hard pressed to find it a future. Not for the first time in the last three weeks Jesse wishes they’d chosen a safehouse a little less in the middle of fucking nowhere, but then the whole point is that this is a forgotten place.

His left hand is acting up, some busted sensors sending short pangs of pain up his arm when he moves it wrong, but it’s going to take an hour and a half of fiddling with a screwdriver to fix it on his own and he hadn’t been willing to wait that long to get going.

Having reached the Zen stage of exhaustion he walks, and he breathes, and he doesn’t take his eyes off the light in the window.

The house waits patiently at the top of the hill. He’s close enough now that he can see the dilapidation, the darkness like makeup that can no longer hide the tell-tale signs of an ageing starlet. The porch door opens silently. A familiar figure stands in the opening, outlined by the light behind him.

A small noise rises in Jesse’s throat at the sight; it sounds broken to his own ears, like ice finally rending under the thaw of spring. Only a few hundred meters left now and Hanzo steps out on the porch to meet him, his shoulders held with that sure, measured energy that is both comforting and, when Jesse’s less abjectly exhausted, strangely hot.

The last few steps Jesse stumbles and almost falls on his face, his leg finally calling it quits on him, but Hanzo always did have inhuman reflexes and is there to catch him. Jesse gets his arms around him and holds on and holds on and holds on, ready to laugh, ready to cry, ready to fight any power, divine or earthly, that would want him to let go.

Hanzo laughs against his cheek, his breath ruffling Jesse’s hair.

“Jesse,” he sighs, picking the hat from Jesse’s head and burying a hand in his hair, cradling him against him.  

“Hey there,” Jesse manages. He leans against Hanzo’s broad chest and lets him take his weight, just hides his face in the curve of his neck and breathes him in.

For a while they stand there in the mild night air, tangled together like vines, swaying gently on the tumbledown porch under the stars.

“Did they try to follow you?” Hanzo asks eventually.

Jesse gives a dismissive sound. “Eh, operating word bein’ ‘tried’. As I’m sure you can imagine they were mostly in shambles after we left. Shook ‘em in a couple of days and then just hung around for a week or so to make sure everything really had blown over. How ‘bout you, you have any trouble?”

Hanzo huffs as if he finds the very concept of the question worthy of ridicule — which Jesse inevitably finds wildly charming — and squeezes Jesse tighter for a moment. Jesse hugs him back and groans under his breath, mashing his face into Hanzo’s shirt.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you,” he mumbles, muffled into the fabric.  

A soft touch of fingers to the back of his neck and the brush of lips against his temple; it’s so familiar, such a _known_ sensation, that Jesse’s body seems to all at once realize it’s reached where it was meant to go. For the first time in weeks he breathes like the air won’t be punched out of him at any moment, calm and deep.

When Hanzo kisses him Jesse melts into it, sighing, meets him halfway — his mouth is warm and gentle even as his fingers tighten in Jesse’s hair, clutching at him. He cups Hanzo’s face in his hands and feels the world spin a little differently around him still, no matter how many times they’ve done this before.

It seems so strange now, that once they were nothing but strangers taking on a job together only because it would have been physically impossible to do it alone.

Hanzo pulls back to study Jesse’s face, taking in the nearly healed cut over his eyebrow and the bruise that must be purpling magnificently on his jaw by now — he touches it lightly, wincing. Jesse takes his hand, kisses the palm of it, holds it against his cheek.

“I’m okay,” he mutters, leaning his head into the touch, “ain’t nothin’ too bad. Just a bit scorched. Bruise is from a bar brawl,” he adds, “uh, unrelated, got a bit antsy the third week and the dude was being a real dick to the lady behind the bar. You should see the other guy and so on.”

Hanzo gives a snort of derision but pulls him in to kiss his forehead. “I believe,” Hanzo says, voice wobbling uncharacteristically, “that I have earned my right to this ‘I told you so’.”

Jesse laughs, giddy, lightheaded. “Sure. Sure. And one every day for the rest of my life, why not, it was a stupid Hail Mary shot and a half. That’s my quota of senseless heroics for the duration, I’m all out. Good thing it worked.”

“Oh, rest assured, you will never hear the end of this,” Hanzo reassures him, arms wrapped securely around him. “I will keep this up my sleeve indefinitely. Even in the afterlife I will make a point to tell you once a day what a terrible plan that was.”

“You love my terrible plans; they’re part of my charm.”

“I live with them,” Hanzo says. “As one does gravity and the ever-present risk of natural disasters.”

“Aw shucks,” Jesse says, grinning as he bumps their noses together. “Hey, let’s get inside before this porch collapses on us, huh?”

“A sound idea.”

Jesse trips a bit on the threshold. The movement jostles his left hand and sends a current of pain up his arm — Jesse bites down on a hiss and holds it to his chest.

“What is it?” Hanzo asks, touching his shoulder and looking him over with renewed urgency.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jesse gasps out, his shoulders dropping down in relief as the pain fades. “Just the wiring acting up again, nothin’ that can’t be fixed. It can wait until morning, it’ll be easier in daylight anyway.”

Hanzo is still frowning but nods. Inside the house looks even worse, somehow, sad and sagging and with a weird musty smell hanging in the air. They step into what must once have been someone’s very cosy living room, a big open space with a kitchen in one end and a busted holoset in the other. The whole place has an abandoned, mournful feel to it, like a puppy grown old and grey faithfully waiting for its owners to return. Only one light bulb still works, throwing out its warm exhausted light in an attempt at chasing off the shadows.

The sheets covering a sofabed has been left uncharacteristically, carelessly unmade, two pillows laid out though only one looks like it’s been used — Jesse feels a clench in his chest.

“And to think I said you never take me anywhere nice,” Jesse says, resting his hands on his hips.

Hanzo snorts and elbows him in the ribs on his way to hang Jesse’s hat on the ear of a wooden chair by the dinner table. “We should count ourselves lucky; most of the basic amenities are still working and the roof… barely leaks.”

“Not like we’re stayin’ long, anyway.” Jesse hooks his fingers into Hanzo’s sleeve and waltzes after him, swinging him around by the arm until he can bury his face against his neck and get his arms around him again. Hanzo laughs but pulls him closer still, sighing when Jesse kisses his hair.

“Silly,” he mutters, belying the protest immediately as he leans his temple against Jesse’s collar bone.

“That might be my sidearm you’re feelin’,” Jesse says, “but I’m also just real happy to see you. Lemme be all sappy at you at least until tomorrow, huh?”

He can feel Hanzo’s chuckle like a hum in his own chest when they’re this close. “Well. Since you make such a convincing case for it,” he says.

“Are you hungry?” Hanzo asks after a while, turning his torso to gesture at a haggard-looking yet apparently working fridge. “I have been making some extra, in case you…”

He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesse touches his fingertips to Hanzo’s jaw to guide his face towards him and kisses him, warm and quiet, humming when Hanzo’s arms come up to wind around his shoulders.

“Tomorrow,” Jesse mumbles between kisses, letting their foreheads rest together. “After I’ve slept for approximately twenty two hours straight.”

Hanzo gives a breath of laughter against his mouth, presses one last kiss to his lips. He lifts his hands to the top button of Jesse’s shirt and raises his eyebrows and Jesse nods gratefully — it’s probably better not to try to navigate that one with his busted hand. Unbuttoning Jesse’s shirt Hanzo slides his hands inside and moves them up his waist, as if he’s taking stock, making sure everything’s still in one piece. Jesse’s too old to begrudge anyone whatever stupid shit they need to do to reassure themselves. So he lets Hanzo slide the shirt off and lean down to kiss his shoulder, gasping first in surprise and then in pleasure as Hanzo takes the opportunity to suck a mark into the skin there.

“We only have the one duvet, so hog the covers at your own peril,” he tells Jesse’s collar bone before turning around to get something in his bag and starting in on his own shirt.

Jesse grins dopily at his back, then kicks his boots off into a corner and lets the rest of his clothes follow, collapsing face first onto the bed after putting his gun down on the table serving as a nightstand. The sheets carry a hint of something mildewy and stuffy from long disuse but smell like Hanzo over all that; he pushes his nose into them and breathes in.

“Move over a bit, the bed tilts down on one side,” Hanzo mumbles, fumbling the covers over them both and then wrapping his arms around Jesse as he lies down. Jesse snuggles in against him, unheeding of the uncomfortably lumpy spots in the mattress because Hanzo is warm and solid and reassuring.

There’s a moment of quiet, the only movement Hanzo’s fingers running through Jesse’s hair.

“Close one, this time,” Jesse comments eventually.

Hanzo gives a non-committal grunt that says yes, it was, and no, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“...I got ‘em out, though,” Jesse says, resting his head on Hanzo’s chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat. “All of them, without a scratch.”

Hanzo is quiet for a while. “I expected nothing less,” he says, his hand sliding down to the small of Jesse’s back to pull him in even closer.

Jesse is not, in the conventional sense, a particularly good guy, but he likes to think that his moral compass isn’t too busted to pick up the magnetic north of not letting a bunch of kids get killed just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s still as much of a strange, unexpected thrill as it had been in his Blackwatch days, getting to avert something shitty in the making as opposed to picking through the rubble later and visiting some justice on whoever was responsible — it feels like cleaning out the universe in a game of poker and then running like hell before it realizes you cheated.  

One of the smaller kids had solemnly put a couple of glittery stickers on his serape right before he left, explaining it was for luck. He guesses he’ll just have to walk around with a sparkly butterfly, a goofy-looking horse and a little cartoon fox Robin Hood on his person at all times now. Nothing for it.

“What special brand of asshole do you have to be to kidnap a bunch of school kids for the ransom, anyway?” Jesse asks, rhetorically, because of course it’s not even the worst thing he’s encountered in his long and storied career of playing hopscotch with the law, but it still rubs him entirely the wrong way. He’s haunted by their scared, hopeful eyes fixed on him as they followed him. Say what you want about the Deadlock gang — and lord knows Jack Morrison never stopped, probably rightfully so — but if one of the guys had come up with _that_ kind of idea back in the day someone would’ve unceremoniously shot him in the head and let everyone get back to their dinner in peace. Everyone has standards.  

“If it is any comfort,” Hanzo says lazily, foot brushing against Jesse’s under the covers, “I doubt we left many enough alive for them to consider trying something like that again for a long, long time. If infighting in the power vacuum does not kill them off for good.”

“Aaaaw, you always know just what to say,” Jesse grins, though it sounds wobbly even to him. He’s shaking all over now, a tremble under his skin that won’t be pushed down. When he closes his eyes he still sees the image of Hanzo standing on the pier seeing them off, the split second before he ran off to create a distraction and get rid of the evidence so no one would be able to trace it back to them — meeting his eyes and not knowing whether it was the last time they’d…

“Sssh,” Hanzo whispers, combing through Jesse’s hair with his fingers, trailing down the nape of his neck.

“Sue me, I was worried for a second there,” Jesse says, letting his palm run over Hanzo’s chest and following it with his eyes, hungry for the uncomplicated warm comfort of it.

They’ve only been together for five years and yet… Jesse has never once in that time imagined a future where Hanzo wasn’t there, hadn’t even entertained the possibility; ever since that first time Hanzo kissed him he’s always just assumed that if they were to go — which, well, considering the way they live is a possibility that’s hard to entirely count out — they’d go together.

In a flash he thinks about Hanzo alone again, if Jesse had — hadn’t been able to come back. He tightens his hold on him without meaning to, as if he can put himself bodily between him and what he just imagined.  

Hanzo must’ve noticed, because he pushes up on an elbow to look down at him, fingers still running through his hair, gently pushing it away from his face when it falls into his eyes. Jesse blinks back at him, grateful to be seen, kept in place by his gaze, in a way he wouldn’t have imagined possible before him.

“Think I’m gettin’ too old for gambling,” Jesse rasps once he’s lined it all up in his head, resting his hand flat on Hanzo’s chest. “Got too many things I can’t lose now.”    

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, his sharp, unflinching face serious and so _certain_. “What you said back there was true. It was the right thing to do. To look the other way and do nothing would have been unconscionable. You remind me sometimes…”

He breaks off, then picks up Jesse’s hand in his, looking down at it with a frown on his brow as he plays with it a little.

“There was a time when there was no place for doubt in my life,” he says finally, thumb tracing over lifeline. “And then doubt was all I had. I suppose…”

Jesse gives him time, waits.

“Having some certainty returned to me is… ” Hanzo trails off as if he can’t find the words he’s looking for, glances up to meet Jesse’s eyes again.

Jesse shifts his hand so their fingers twine together, bringing their joined hands to his face and letting his lips brush against Hanzo’s knuckles because yeah, he gets that. Hanzo gives a breath of relief, the sort of sound that still appears to be a tentative rebellion against decades spent squashing any real reaction as if to avoid shows of weakness. Jesse’s not sure whether he’s deliberately letting it show or has just lowered his guard enough that it does anyway: he’s happy for it, either way.

“Thank you,” Hanzo says.

“Hey, I should be thankin’ you,” Jesse says. “You saved my ass back there. Twice, at least. And I know you weren’t wild about the splitting up idea, but you went along with it anyway.”

Hanzo shrugs as much as he can with his weight leaning on an elbow. “You made a compelling enough case for it, insane as it was. And it _is_ an ass infinitely worthy of saving.”

Jesse grins. “Well, it’s good to know it ain’t just my back you’re watching out there.”

“I have been reliably informed this is a partnership. It is my duty to keep an eye out for all of you. It cannot be helped.” His eyes crinkle as Jesse gives a guffaw. “Let us not do something quite this preposterous and harebrained for a while, though. I need there to be _some_ truth to it whenever I assure Genji we are not being overly reckless.”

“We could stand to rest on our laurels for a bit. The two of us _did_ just single handedly dismantle a whole side branch of an international crime syndicate without leaving anyone any the wiser,” Jesse muses. “That’s pretty badass. Reminds me of a story I heard once, except there were seven of them in that one. And it was a bunch of farmers caught up in trouble instead of the kids and those guys were hired instead of just happenin’ to pass by and pulling it off for shits and — so actually, not a whole lot like that at all, really. But still, pretty badass.”

“ _We_ did not get paid,” Hanzo points out. “Not even in rice.”

“But then none of us died either, so that still puts us one up on them, I reckon. Statistically speakin’.”

“I suppose. My ancestors have upheld a long tradition of being hesitant to commit murders unless we receive ample monetary dispensation,” Hanzo says. “I always feel somehow… wasteful, when I do not.”

“Ain’t weeding assholes out of the great garden that is life kinda its own reward, when you think about it?” Jesse posits, waving a nonchalant hand in the air. “Y’know, love your job and you’ll never work a day in your life, sorta thing?”

Hanzo’s grin flashes like a knife in the darkness. It’s of the not very nice variety that would be terrifying if it weren’t mostly reserved for people who’ve amply deserved it. “A very valid point.”

“All jokes aside, though, let’s make sure there’s some good cash in the next one. Could barely afford to rent a rustbucket of a hoverbike and then it basically fell to pieces on the way here. Hard to go anywhere in style when your ride keeps hemorrhaging parts.”

“What was that about justice being its own reward, again?”

With a shrug Jesse says: “Honestly? When I’m doin’ all of the legwork, justice could at least deign to buy me a drink at the end of the day. Only fair.”

Hanzo gazes contemplatively down at him, chin resting in his hand. “Hm. Your particular corkscrew approach to morality is always deeply comforting, somehow. I could listen for hours.”

“I like to think we make a difference every now and then, in our own way. Even if it’s mostly just pest control.”

“A veritable pair of knights errant,” Hanzo says, desert dry yet affectionate as he pushes Jesse’s hair out of his forehead.

“Hey,” Jesse says, grinning up at him. “Next best thing: a real pair of bastards going around righting some wrongs. Reckon whoever’s keeping score don’t mind if the armor ain’t quite shining anymore.” He thinks about it. “Let’s hope that style points count, though, otherwise half of my whole deal falls through.”

Hanzo closes his eyes and seems to sway a little, like he is being buffeted by some strong gale. He rests his hand on Jesse’s chest, over the heart.

“I love you so much I can barely breathe for it, sometimes,” Hanzo says quietly, leaning their foreheads together.

“‘S good to be home,” Jesse tells him, winding his arms around him and holding him close.

 

———

 

He wakes up warm for the first time in weeks. For a while he blinks benignly up at the ceiling, watching the daylight filtered through the tattered curtains; Hanzo breathes slow and deep against him, pressed close all along his side. In his sleep Hanzo makes a sound and tightens the arm he’s got slung over Jesse’s waist — Jesse turns his face into Hanzo’s hair and kisses the top of his head.

Hanzo blinks his eyes open and squints at him, looking still half asleep with his hair falling into his face and an imprint of Jesse’s prosthetic arm on his cheek where the pillow had slid away.

It’s almost too much for Jesse’s heart to take.  

“Morning,” Jesse says, brushing a few wayward locks away from Hanzo’s face.

Hanzo murmurs his name and draws him in close, close, kisses him with such a mix of gentleness and hunger that Jesse feels it glow like an ache in his own blood. He cups Hanzo’s face in his hands and kisses him back, letting Hanzo swallow the small fragile sound he makes. Maybe he ought to be embarrassed. He isn’t.

When he pulls back Hanzo stays close enough to breathe against his mouth, brushing their lips together again as he slides his eyes all the way open and looks at Jesse for a long time.

“See somethin’ you like?” Jesse asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I have thought about doing this for _three_ _weeks_ ,” Hanzo says abruptly and pounces.

“Whoa there,” Jesse laughs, going easily when Hanzo pushes him over on his back and drapes himself over him like an affectionate blanket. The next kiss runs hotter, their legs tangling, Hanzo’s hands buried in Jesse’s hair. Jesse pushes up against every part of Hanzo he can, needy for the contact.

“Y’know, I’d like to show you just _how_ happy I am to see you again,” Jesse drawls, trailing his hand down the small of Hanzo’s back to rest just over the swell of his ass, “but I’m not entirely sure this rickety ol’ bed would survive it.”

“That is a risk I am prepared to take,” Hanzo mumbles, pressing kisses into his neck — Jesse groans and tips his head to the side to give him more space. “Have you ever known me to be a coward?”

Jesse laughs breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmmhm. My kinda hero.”

Hanzo nips at his earlobe with his teeth, gentle but suggestive, and a happy shiver trickles down Jesse’s spine.

Despite Jesse’s dire predictions the bed holds. They fuck long and slow and sweet, partly out of deference to the furniture and partly because they have the time. As Jesse gasps into the pillow, Hanzo’s mouth soft on the back of his neck, he tightens his fingers where they’re half tangled with Hanzo’s and half in the sheets, quite possibly the happiest man on Earth.

Afterwards he lies on his back and pulls Hanzo half on top of him, basking in the afterglow for as long as he can.

Finally Jesse sighs and scrounges up the will to move from various far flung corners of his soul. “Yeah, okay. Time to get up.”

“Nrgh,” Hanzo grumbles into his shoulder, a sound of protest that holds such strangely good-natured petulance that it makes Jesse chuckle out loud. Giving in to the need to linger he wraps his arms tighter around Hanzo and kisses the top of his head — he feels Hanzo give a puff of laughter at himself, no sharp edges to it, no self-directed meanness there, like he’d barely been able to when they first met.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jesse murmurs, nuzzling at Hanzo’s hair. “Gotta answer a call of nature. Be right back.”

He gingerly scoots out from under him, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofabed and getting to his feet. He tests his weight on his right leg and finds that luckily they seem to have reached a place where it can forgive him. He gives his thigh a grateful pat; at forty-five he’s starting to reach an age where he feels like he should offer a token appreciation to any body part that’s still more or less doing its job right. (Though by that logic they really ought to come up with a new kind of medal to give to his liver.)

He stumbles into the hall to find the bathroom and washes his hands afterwards, shaking them dry. With a yawn he scratches his chest and circles his thumb over the faint beginnings of a hickey on his collar bone, catching the flash of his own smile in the blackening mirror.

When he comes back into the living room he picks up yesterday’s clothes — Hanzo has brought a clean change for them both, but that should wait until after a shower — and puts them on while ogling the parts of Hanzo peeking out tantalizingly from between the covers. “I heard some rumors about food?”

“In the fridge. The microwave still works, if intermittently,” Hanzo says where he’s still faceplanted into the pillow from after Jesse moved away. Jesse leans down to kiss his shoulder before setting off for his first non-junky meal in a week.

With a faux-put-upon sigh Hanzo flips over on his back and gets up too, joining Jesse in the kitchen without bothering to put on a shirt. Jesse’s day is getting better and better all the time.  

Jesse wolfs down the food — which is impossibly, _insolently_ good, considering the meager ingredients Hanzo’s had to work with — and leaves the dishes in the sink because well, who’s going to complain. When he’s about to put the plate down something goes wrong in his left hand, pain sparkling along his nerves. He swears as the dropped plate makes a godawful racket and rubs the place where the metal meets skin like that’s going to do much good, catching Hanzo’s look and sighing.

“Fuck. Could you help me with this stupid thing?”Jesse asks, gesturing meekly to the offending limb.

Hanzo shovels the last few bites into his mouth and gets up, dropping his plate next to Jesse’s. “Of course. Come here.”

Hanzo takes his right hand and leads him over to the dining table, making him sit close to the window, where daylight is pouring in and puddling on dusty surfaces. Jesse uses his sleeve to clear a rough square on the tabletop, lighting a cigarillo as Hanzo looks through his duffle bag and comes back with the small screwdriver he keeps stashed in there for occasions like this.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Hanzo says as he sits down next to him — his eyes narrow when Jesse gives a vague, uninspired grunt of agreement around the cigarillo. “I mean it. You always — ”

Jesse chuckles. “I will. Promise,” he adds when Hanzo’s scowl remains unconvinced, reaching out to tuck a lock of dark hair behind his ear — Hanzo rolls his eyes, mumbling under his breath as he starts working. He leans to the side to let the light fall better over the exposed metal, and his hair tumbles into his face again, obscuring his furrowed brow. After a bit of rummaging he sits up straighter with a triumphant sound.

“Ah, there it is, this one has come loose and is pulling at the others. What on earth did you do to get this — hm. Is this one of those situations where what I don’t know can’t hurt me?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Jesse agrees, brushing his bare food against Hanzo’s shin. If, theoretically, he’d messed up the prosthesis during some precarious minutes spent dangling from one hand over a hundred feet drop — because he was holding on to a helicopter that happened to be a hundred feet in the air at the time — that’s neither here nor there and is unlikely to make Hanzo feel much better about… well, anything. In Hanzo’s world it’s apparently only _him_ who gets to pull insane stunts without being viciously mother henned afterwards, because he ‘knows what he’s doing while you simply throw yourself in head first and hope for the best, _Jesse_ ’. Which, to be fair, is not entirely inaccurate and you know what, it’s kind of nice that someone cares.

“Hm.” Hanzo returns to his task, focused and still. Jesse feels the tingling pins and needles sensation that means the right parts are touching but haven’t slid properly into place yet — then a shock of pain shoots through his arm and up the shoulder, like someone just gave a good whack to a funny bone.  

Jesse’s whole body stiffens as he grimaces. Then he sees Hanzo’s wide worried eyes and clears his throat. “Uh — ouch? Whoa, that sure smarts a bit? See, I can communicate.”

“If you were not so desperately dear to me I would stab you with this screwdriver,” Hanzo informs him, leaning to press his hand flat against Jesse’s chest for a second. “It slipped away.”

Jesse glances down at his arm and makes a face. “Yeah, that’s one of the slippery ones, the attachment’s gone a bit crooked over the years.”

“Should I try again?”

He knows Hanzo doesn’t particularly like doing this — he’s given to flinching worse than Jesse does whenever he sees any sign of discomfort — but he also stubbornly refuses to let Jesse do his own prolonged poke-around-for-a-good-angle-and-hope-for-the-best-when-you-wince routine and is irrefutably better at it, so Jesse says: “Yeah, let’s give it another shot.”

This time Hanzo gets it perfectly, as he does more often than not. With a groan of relief Jesse curls his hand into a fist and stretches it out again, no murmurs of pain along the edges this time. “Phew. Thanks.”

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Good, then.” Hanzo puts the screwdriver down on the table, tension bleeding out of his shoulders again. He’s still got his fingers lightly curled around Jesse’s wrist, though, thumb absently brushing over it.

“Guess I oughta get someone to look at it properly at some point,” Jesse sighs. “This DIY stuff only goes so far.”

Hanzo hums in agreement. “I would read up more on biomechanical engineering, but your model seems… unbothered by industry standards, let us say. It would take a quiet month and a lot of trial and error.”

“Makes sense that it’s not the, uh, conventional setup. Getting it made wasn’t _necessarily_ an officially sanctioned transaction,” Jesse allows.

Hanzo moves his thumb over the skull motif running down the forearm. “I would never have guessed,” he says, gazing at Jesse with half lidded eyes. It’s a unique blend of sardonic and fond that Jesse will never get tired of.  

“Hey,” Jesse says, throat dry, watching Hanzo’s fingers gentle against the metal.

“Hm?”

And there are still so many things he needs to say to him, that he’s been cradling in his chest for the last three weeks; they crowd his mouth now, none of them able to escape the throng, none of them the right shape. He puts out the cigarillo then scratches the back of his neck with his free hand and ducks his head. “I, uh. Nothin’,” he says, chuckling a little. “It was stupid anyway, ignore me.”

“I very much doubt that,” Hanzo says, twining their fingers together. “But we have all the time in the world. There is no rush.”

Their eyes meet.

“Thanks,” Jesse says.

Hanzo gives one of his rare sudden bright smiles and brings Jesse’s hand to his face, touching his lips to the back of it. “Hm. ‘I should be thanking you’, was that it?”

Not for the first time Jesse wishes the prosthesis could pick up changes in temperature and the subtler kinds of touch — but then, on the other hand… again, he had used it to dangle from a steel wire under a helicopter three weeks ago, so maybe it’s just one of those ‘you win some, you lose some’ situations. All the rest of him is perfectly capable of feeling Hanzo’s lips wherever he chooses to put them, after all.

“Just a whole lotta gratitude all round,” Jesse agrees, grinning back.

Getting to his feet Hanzo puts the screwdriver away in his way-too-organized duffle bag and goes through some papers he’s got stashed in there. Jesse ambles up behind him.

“So… the water in this place still runnin’ okay?” Jesse asks casually, edging closer.

“Yes,” Hanzo says distractedly, combing his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face — it’s long enough now that it falls into his eyes if he doesn’t tie it back. “Thankfully the piping system seems to have survived the ravages of time, but I am not sure how long we should count on — “

Jesse brushes his lips over the exposed back of Hanzo’s neck and lets his hands rest on his hips. “‘Cause I don’t know about you, but I’m dyin’ for a shower,” he mumbles, kissing his shoulder softly when he leans back into him.  

Hanzo turns his head to look at him, his eyes crinkling. “Ah. And, by any chance, for some company?”

Jesse presses his grin into Hanzo’s shoulder because he can’t for the life of him keep it down, winding his arms around his waist. “Why Mr. Shimada,” he says, “are you tryin’ to seduce me?”

“Trust me when I say that when I turn to seducing there will be no room for doubt,” Hanzo says, an edge of smugness to his voice, which — fair, Jesse can attest to that from firsthand experience. He plants a kiss on Hanzo’s temple before reaching around him and gratefully fishing the toiletry bag from the duffle. Left to his own devices he’d had to get a new toothbrush for every tumbledown hotel he’d stayed at across three continents because he keeps forgetting to bring them with him. It really is good to be home.

“Think I’d like to see that. Care to provide a demonstration?”

He starts to move towards the stairs, and Hanzo catches his hand at the last second, linking their pinkies together as he follows.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [freebooter4ever](http://freebooter4ever.tumblr.com) for the beta and for putting up with my complete lack of tech savvy! Truly a hero and a scholar <3
> 
> Hanzo and Jesse reference ‘Seven Samurai’ and ‘The Magnificent Seven’ at one point, which really is just a historic case of the ‘can I copy your homework/okay just don’t make it too obvious’ meme. The deeply intertwined relationship between samurai movies and the modern Western is truly one of the gifts of this pairing that keeps on giving – do yourself a favor and google ‘yojimbo’ and ‘a fistful of dollar’ together for an extra dimension of OTP feels. (Long story short: I feel like there’s an argument to be made that Hanzo and Jesse’s individual character designs reference two different versions of the same goddamn character and that makes me very happy.)
> 
> Also this is the chilliest Hanzo I’ve ever written and I’m not sure how it happened. I think my brain latched on to the sheer 1000%-I-give-no-fucks-anymore tone when he goes ‘Find another errand boy, Akande’ and went ‘yeah okay so like. What about that but all the time’. So here we go: a story in which Hanzo has reached a place where he’s honestly just here to a) smooch his cowboy husband real good, b) have a laugh, maybe a drink, c) getting some redemption in by kicking the ass of people who definitely deserve it. Jesse seduced him into good, or at least anti-heroic vigilantism, which is basically the same thing but with more cool backflips, right?
> 
> ETA: Also I'm on tumblr [ over here! ](https://vaguely-concerned.tumblr.com/) If you want to come have crippling amounts of feels about McHanzo with me, let's suffer together!


End file.
